The scent of wilting lilies clung to Zenia’s black linen dress, a mournful counterpoint to the hushed murmurs circulating through the Kyprios family estate. Rain slicked the cobblestone drive outside, but inside, the air was thick with the suffocating warmth of too many mourners, too much expensive cologne. Her son, Teo, bless his four-year-old heart, was currently engrossed in tracing the elaborate floral patterns on a heavy drapery, his presence a tiny, vibrant anchor in her grief. “Elian wouldn’t have wanted us to dwell,” old Mr. Petrovas, chairman of Veridia Architekton, declared, his voice a gravelly rumble that somehow carried over the subdued din. He clapped a heavy hand on Zenia’s shoulder, driving her deeper into the plush settee. “He wanted the Astrakis project finished. His final, grandest vision, Zenia.” Zenia forced a thin smile, her gaze drifting towards the massive, sun-drenched concept rendering of Villa Astrakis that dominated the far wall – a grand celebration of Elian’s mind, and now, her impending doom. The compound, half-built on the craggy cliffs overlooking the Cerulean Bay, felt less like a dream and more like a looming concrete monster. She’d assisted Elian on the initial layouts, but leading it? That was a spotlight she’d spent years actively dodging. “We’ve had… difficulties with the interim team,” Mrs. Solani, a sharp-eyed board member, added, her tone crisp as fresh parchment. “Their vision simply isn’t aligned. Elian trusted you, Zenia. His protégé.” Zenia’s stomach clenched. Elian had taught her everything, had seen the flicker of brilliance she so carefully kept hidden. But his dying wish, whispered through raspy breaths in a sterile hospital room, had been both a gift and a curse: *“Finish Astrakis, Zenia. For your future. For Teo’s.”* She loved him, honored him, but her future, in her mind, involved a small, perfectly organized flat and a steady stream of unchallenging freelance jobs. Not a multi-million-kyat mega-mansion. A sudden hush fell over the room, an abrupt silence more potent than any shout. Every head swiveled towards the grand entrance. A man stood framed in the doorway, rain-darkened suit clinging to broad shoulders, a stark contrast to the subdued elegance of the mourners. Darius Voulgaris. His name alone carried the force of a storm front, his family’s architectural empire a relentless titan in Veridia’s elite circles. His eyes, the color of a winter sky, swept across the room with a chilling intensity. He didn't offer condolences. He didn't even acknowledge the Kyprios family matriarch. Instead, his gaze landed squarely on the cliffside rendering, then on the cluster of interim designers huddled near the refreshments, their faces suddenly pale. “My apologies for the intrusion,” Darius’s voice cut through the air, low and resonant, carrying an undeniable edge. “But the Voulgaris Group is withdrawing all contracts with your current design team on Villa Astrakis, effective immediately.” The words landed like a gavel strike. A collective gasp rippled through the room. The interim designers looked as if they’d been slapped, their faces going from pale to ashen. One, a portly man named Kosta, stammered, “Mr. Voulgaris, we’ve been working diligently…” “Diligence without vision is just busywork,” Darius interrupted, his voice colder than the bay wind. “Elian Kyprios’s final build deserves more than… *adequate*. It deserves brilliance. And you,” he gestured dismissively at Kosta and his team, “are not it.” He didn't wait for a response, his gaze shifting, almost casually, to Zenia. “Who *is* leading this build now?” Mr. Petrovas, seizing the moment, practically pushed Zenia forward. “Zenia Calas, Mr. Voulgaris. Elian’s protégé. She worked closely on the original blueprints. She’s taking over.” Zenia’s throat tightened. No, she *wasn’t* taking over. She’d just been cornered into *considering* it. But Darius Voulgaris was already nodding, a curt, decisive movement that sealed her fate. “Good. We’ll expect a full design review by the end of the week. Don’t disappoint me, Ms. Calas. Elian wouldn’t have.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode out, leaving a wake of stunned silence and a simmering fury in Zenia’s chest. She ended up in Elian’s private study, now converted into a temporary workspace, surrounded by the remnants of his work and her burdensome new responsibility. Teo, surprisingly quiet for once, sat on the floor, meticulously arranging a pile of discarded schematics into a fortress for his action figures. Zenia, hunched over a tilted wooden desk, scrolled through the inventory manifest for the cliffside build, a dull ache behind her eyes. “Rejected,” she muttered, seeing the red flag next to her requested order for ‘Carra Bianca’ Italian marble. Of course. The Voulgaris Group always chose local, cost-effective options. This mansion, however, demanded the cool, ethereal glow of Carra Bianca. She sighed, clicking the ‘resubmit with notes’ button, typing out a concise argument about thermal regulation and aesthetic continuity. A futile gesture, she knew. Darius Voulgaris wouldn’t care about her elegant prose. Her finger hovered over the 'send' button when a strange shimmer caught her eye. On the sleek, obsidian surface of Darius Voulgaris’s slate, left carelessly on the corner of the tilted desk after his brief visit, the ‘Carra Bianca’ marble request blinked green. Then, a confirmation email popped up, addressed to *her*, from a Voulgaris Group procurement account, approving the premium order. In real-time. Zenia blinked, her mind struggling to process. It had been rejected a second ago. Now, approved? With no input from her or anyone else she knew of? A cold prickle traced her arms. No way. Suddenly, the study door swung open. Darius Voulgaris stood there, his face a thundercloud. “My handheld,” he bit out, his gaze sweeping the room. “Someone just accessed my system. Remotely.” His eyes narrowed on the glowing screen. “And approved an order I explicitly denied.” Zenia froze, the monitor’s screen a silent, incriminating beacon. Her heart throbbed against her ribs. Accessed his system? Denied an order? Oh, gods. She glanced down. Teo, oblivious, was still arranging his paper fortress, a tiny, satisfied hum escaping his lips. But then, she noticed it: a slender charging cable snaking from the slate, disappearing under the wooden desk where Teo sat. And clutched in Teo’s small hand, almost hidden, was a sleek, unfamiliar device, its indicator light a faint, rhythmic pulse. Darius took a predatory step into the room. “Who is in here? Identify yourself.” His gaze was sharp, probing every shadow. He moved towards the worktable, his expensive shoes silent on the polished floor. Zenia’s mind raced. Teo. Her brilliant child, her sweet, innocent, four-year-old digital prodigy. He’d probably thought he was just fixing a ‘glitch’ in her work, as he called it. She needed to hide him. Now. With a desperate surge of adrenaline, Zenia shoved the heavy, wheeled architect’s chair with her foot. It rolled with a loud *thump*, positioning itself perfectly to block the gap under the worktable where Teo was crouched. The sound was too loud, too sudden. Darius’s head snapped towards her, his eyes blazing. “What was that?” he demanded, taking another step. He was almost at the table. Too close. “Just… an errant chair,” Zenia stammered, trying to sound nonchalant, her voice a reedy whisper. She forced a smile, which probably looked more like a grimace. “These things roll, you know.” Darius paused, his gaze narrowing, not entirely convinced. He took one last, slow step, his eyes sweeping past Zenia, past the chair, towards the side of the plan cabinet directly behind where Teo was hidden. His expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable. His gaze locked onto a glowing tablet screen, its light spilling onto the floor, and a tiny, light-up superhero shoe peeking out from behind the cabinet.

The Marble Hack